


Off the List

by cryptye



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game), Halloween Movies - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Michael is awkward, No Smut, based in 1978 after the events of the first movie
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-13
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-08-23 06:55:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16614056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cryptye/pseuds/cryptye
Summary: College has ended for the semester and Christmas is on its way. You meet a strange visitor on your property one night and he doesn't seem to want to leave you alone. Slowly, you develop a strange friendship with the man. He has a list and he checks it twice. Little do you know, he's actually not that nice.





	1. 1 // It's Beginning to Look a lot like Christmas

Chapter One // It’s Beginning to Look Alot Like Christmas!

   

    November quickly passed with amber and bronze leaves in the breeze. The weather dramatically changed as December arrived in blankets of glistening snow. A little town was decorated entirely in Christmas cheer. Lights hung from tiny houses and children’s snowmen sat proudly on front lawns.

    Classes finally dismissed for the semester. Stepping out of the classroom, backpack slung lazily around your back, you deeply inhale the crisp air of freedom. You survived another semester of college with your GPA intact and had enough time to attend your jazzercise classes.

    You lived alone in a small house that sat at the end of a dirt road located in the outskirts of town. A bit sketchy, but affordable. A few neighbors were scattered throughout the forest. You have only met one or two families in your area. Since you lived alone, you knew it was best to have acquaintances close to you in case of an emergency. At first, you were not supposed to be alone, your boyfriend was going to be moving in with you, but that did not happen.

  Car parked in the snowy driveway, footprints lead through the snow to your covered porch. Tossing your heavy backpack across your living room, you entered through the front door and welcomed by a toasty house. Lazily slumping onto your sofa, head resting on one of the cushioned arms, you close your eyes.

 

    Relief at last.

 

    Eyes fluttering open, the creaks and crunches from heavy wind and snow hits your ears. The room was chilly. Goosebumps hastily formed onto your skin.  Releasing a very attractive noise while you stretch, you roll off the couch to make your way to the kitchen for a hot drink. Turning your head to a window, curtains slightly covering it,  you notice it was dark outside. How long have you been asleep? Good nap, though. Definitely well deserved. As soon as your socked feet hit the tile of the kitchen, the wind picks up dramatically. The lights flicker a few times. Huffing you quickly rush to your fireplace so you would not freeze to death, if the power goes out. You snatched a matchbox from the dusty shelf above the stone covered fireplace. A bit of ash flew as you tossed a few good pieces of wood from your stack next to the hearth.

    Amber flames licked the inside of the chimney hungerly. A cup of steaming cocoa, too hot to sip, sat next to you 一you had managed to heat up some milk before the lights fully went out一 while a wooly blanket was draped over your head.

    The satisfying scent of the cozy fireplace and boiling cocoa filled the room. Snuggling into your blanket more, you listened to the crackling of fire and wood along with the howls of freezing wind and snow tapping on the rooftop.

    With hours passing, you found yourself a good novel and flashlight. It was late. You were not sure of the exact time, but it was late.

 

    There was a grunt.

 

    Sleepy eyes snapping up from your book, you searched the room. You could have sworn…

 

    Another grunt.

    Softer this time. It was coming from outside.

 

    Quietly placing your book and light down, you crawl towards a window that viewed the snow-covered front yard.

    A silhouette of a person staggered from the tree line. You could not make out their face. But this was definitely a man judging by the broad, burly shape.

    The power was out, the phone was dead. You couldn’t call the police, or anyone in that manner. You were alone.

    You peaked your eyes over the windowsill, watching the shape stagger closer, holding his face then dropping something unknown behind him in the snow. As he approached closer, you had to plan on how to protect yourself if necessary. Returning to your feet, you scrambled to your room.

 

    You possessed an old shotgun, it was your father’s before he gifted it to you.

 

    Before the man reached the steps to your front porch, you, clad in clunky boots and a giant sweater, kicked the door open, flashlight and weapon pointed at him. You were about to shout something threatening at the man,  but he collapsed into the snow. You shined the light at his face, noting dark, tired eyes and blue lips. He blinked a few times, regarding your presence. You could hear his teeth chattering heavily. His hair was shaggy and outgrown, dusted with snowflakes. Outfit was soaked and definitely not for this weather.  Frozen snot ran down from his nose. Lifting his head to let those exhausted eyes follow your every move, you step back with caution.

    Your fingers were shivering violently around the gun. Was it because of the cold air or the fact that a stranger entered into your property?

    Definitely the cold weather. You should have grabbed gloves.

    You shook your head from the thought, snow sprinkled onto your head and shoulders. “What are you doing here?” You growled in a deep tone.

 

    No answer.

 

    “I said…”

 

    You shot the gun into the night sky, it kicked into your shoulder a bit painfully. The boom echoed throughout the forest as shockwaves vibrated in your chest.

    “What are you doing here?!” You shouted.

    He dropped his head, falling unconscious,

    Eyes widening, you step closer for inspection, weapon still aimed at the stranger. Was he lost? Maybe mugged and stranded? Perhaps a psycho-murder who escaped an insane asylum on his way to fight his arch enemy?

 

    “Sir, are you okay?” You tapped his snowy shoulder with your foot. “Sir?”

 

    Going against your better judgement, you sling the shotgun around your back. You slowly and carefully grab one of his arms, fully expecting him to snatch at your hair and strangle you. But he didn’t. You flopped his limp limbs over you and pathetically drag the man to the shelter of your porch.

    Your plan was to set him on your porch, light the fire pit, grab a quilt, and pray the power comes back soon to call the police to get this weirdo. You were absolutely not welcoming him into your home.

    Finally after a few struggling feet of pulling the person to the porch, you drop his arms a bit to roughly. Probably should have lowered them gently. Bending over to catch your breath, you chuckled at the thought of dragging a dead body around. After a minute, you rushed inside for the blanket you were using earlier along with a few dry chunks of wood.

 

He awoke with a heavy fabric surrounding his being and a strong warmth next to him. Eyes fluttering open just a bit, he let out a heavy, foggy breath, sitting up perfectly straight.

    “How was your nap, bud?”

    His head shot towards the source of the voice.

    You were sat across from him, at a safe distance, blanket wrapped around your legs, gun in lap, the shiny metal illuminated by the fire. You were tired, cold and miserable. But, with your generous and kind heart, you stayed out here with the man.

    The fire pit separated you both. The crackles of the fire and the song of the snowstorm created an almost relaxing melody.

    “The power’s been out so I can’t call anyone for you.”

    He blinked.

    You readjusted the gun in your lap, making sure he took note of it. “Why are you out here?”

    He blinked again as if he didn’t understand what you were saying.

    “Bud, c’mon. This is wicked lame.” You huffed, frustration showing a bit. “I’ve been keeping you warm all night, you could’ve died out there…”

    He shifted from his position to face you, half-lidded eyes gazing into your soul.

    “Hellooo?” You wave your hand to get his attention. “Can you even speak?”

    He blinked again.

  


    He did not have the ability to speak.

 

    Or he just chose not to.

 

    This was a terrible idea.

 

    No, you are a Good Samaritan and this man needed help. He seemed harmless.

 

    “You must be hungry.” You finally broke the silence. He watched you pull out an unopened energy bar and toss it to him. It landed perfectly in his lap. With a delayed reaction, he craned his neck to peer down at the food item between his legs. Slowly and robotically, he picked it up into his large hands.

    What did he think it was? He acted like he has never seen food before. You glared at him intently, waiting for him to start munching.

 

    But he didn’t.

 

    Instead, he let green snot dribble down his mouth and chin. Inwardly cringing, you grinned, waiting for him to sniff or wipe his face. Maybe he would like a tissue.

    “Would you like a hanky?” You awkwardly smiled again.

    You wait for him to reply. The sounds of the wind finally calming and the crunches of the fire filled the silence between you two.

    He let out a cough. A loud, guttural cough.

    Startled by his sudden noise, you jump back slightly. Finally some feedback.

    You lean over to grab the handkerchief you collected earlier and tossed it to your friend.

    It landed in his lap, yet it did not phase him. Instead he gazed at you with those dark eyes. Something is wrong with this man. Or maybe he was just awkward? Plain stupid? Perhaps he was infatuated by your smokin’ good looks.

    He coughed again. This one was worse than the first one. He was sick. How long was he out there? His eyes drooped, snot collected around his mouth and chin. Gross. His clothes were in bad condition.

    “Alright, we’re going inside. I’m cold and you look like you’re dying.” You stood up, gun still in hand. He watched as you open the door and motioned him in with your head. Surprisingly, he followed your signal, blanket hanging around his broad shoulders and energy bar still in hand. Finally, something he understood.

    Shutting the door behind you, you spotted him standing in the middle of the living room, admiring your pictures on the mantel. Some were paintings you created, some were photos of your friends from college. He seemed to be infatuated by a small abstract painting. You leaned coolly against the wall.

    “It’s yours, if you want it.”

    He looked back to you. Coughed a bit, chest heaving.

    You ignored his gaze and shined your light at a clock hung on the wall. “It’ll be bright out soon.”

    Your new friend gazed around the room some more, until finally sitting in front of the dimming fireplace. He stared at the flickering embers so more snot dripped from his nose.

     Still leaning on the wall, weapon in hand, you watched him, eyes growing heavy. You were tired, but not stupid. You kept your eyes aimed on the shape of him. He flopped lazily to his side, letting out an exhausted exhale.

Continuing to sleep on the floor in front of the dying fire, he twitched and grunted a few times. Daylight had finally arrived after an excruciating long night. The power had come back as well, lights flickering before staying on. You sleepily stumbled to the phone in the kitchen, still eyeing the slumbering man.

 

    “Yes, hello?”

 

    You snuck another peek at him.

 

    “This man arrived at my house last night...the power went out last night… and uh..I think he might be hurt or something. Can someone please come by and get him?” You whisper.

 

    You tell the operator your address and hung up the phone, turning to enter the den. He was still asleep. Deciding to let him rest, you wait on the couch. You look at the stranger, then the gun in your lap. You never let it go. Grip tight, knuckles were white. To be honest, you were scared, tired, and anxious, this was the most excitement you’ve had in a few weeks.

    There was a quiet knock at your door, your pal stirred in his sleep. You shuffle to the door.

    “Good morning, ma’am. We received a call about someone who might be injured.”

   Shoulders falling slightly, you nodded and opened the door to show the sleeping man.

    The officer’s gaze fell onto you, “where is he?”

    You twirl quickly around, facing the living door. “He was right here...hold on really quick.” You left the door open and dashed to the kitchen. Not there. The bathroom. Nope. Laundry room. Nada. Your room. No. You return to the door scratching the back of your head.

    “Found him?” The officer sighed, foggy breath floated around his face.

    “I literally have no where he went.” You were embarrassed a bit. Where did he go?

    “Call again if you find him, we’ll keep an eye out too. He probably just a drunk teen who didn’t wanna be caught.” The officer carelessly said.

    All you could do was nod and shut the door. Your eyes traveled to the mantlepiece.   

    The painting was gone.


	2. Chapter Two // All I Want for Christmas is You!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> abuse warning !!

Chapter Two // All I Want for Christmas is You!

He must have slipped through the back door. You place the shotgun into its original hiding spot.

Where did he go?

Maybe he was some loser stoner who did not want to get caught in possession of drugs.

Well, he was gone now. Just to be completely sure, you checked every possible hiding place.

He was gone.

You lay back down on your couch. “Where did you go.” You quietly murmured, staring at the empty space where the painting used to be.

The rest of the day passed. Golden afternoon daylight mixed with fresh snow. Hard-earned money was spent on gifts and food. You were preparing for your family visiting for Christmas and New Year’s. Excitement traveled throughout your body. This was your favorite time of the year.  
Your evening was rudely interrupted by someone you did not desire to see. A man, an abusive, insane man, leaned very uncomfortably towards you.  
“You need to leave.”  
He slurred a few unintelligible words until he leaned a few more inches. “C’mon babe, let me in.”  
Frustration boiling, you pushed on the door slightly, ready to slam and lock it. This man was bad news. Before, you both met as freshmen and you fell in love with the cunning man. Yet, he was manipulative. He played with your feelings like a child with their toys. Breaking your heart over and over. You always crawled back to him.  
Why?  
He was all you knew. You had no experience with healthy dating, thinking that emotional confusion was the norm.  
Eventually, encounters became more physical and you were in the hospital and your boyfriend took a trip in the back of a police car. He was kicked out of college a while after that.  
You blocked out most of the memories, but still, the scarring was still there.  
“Don’t call me that.” You quaked, pushing on the door more, only peaking your eyes and nose out of the opening.  
Panic was starting to fill up for chest as he pushed back, chuckling. The room began to spin. Too much was happening. First, the visitor from last night一probably one of your ex’s idiotic goons一and now a special surprise visit from the abuser, himself. What an honor. You were getting overwhelmed. Too much was happening. You wanted your parents.

“I re...really think I should.” He hiccuped, his breath stank like nicotine and alcohol. It was so familiar and so painful. Subconsciously placing a hand over your stomach in protection, you breathe, calming the rising panic. “Leave me alone.”  
Without warning, he kicked open the door. You backed up. Desperately wishing you had your shotgun, you raised your arms in defence and backed up. Your abuser stumbled toward you. Throat burning from screaming, you throw a weak punch. That did not stop him from grabbing your arms tightly, pulling you to him. He was yelling at you, you could not hear the words. You shrieked and struggled. Putrid breath hit your face while you kicked the man roughly pinning you to the wall. His hands tightened around for arms.  
“This’ll teach you to leave-!”  
He loosened his grip, looking past you into the kitchen. While he was distracted, you struggle free and kick him in the shin. He stepped back. You fell to the hardwood floor, trembling and sobbing. Your fingers pulled at your messy hair.  
“Don’t touch me. Don’t touch me.” You squeezed your eyes shut and tightened yourself into a ball against the wall, ready for the next attack from your ex.

The hobo-dude from last night walked through the doorway to face your ex.  
“Who-who’s this guy?”  
The attacker stepped away, closer to the exit. The larger man stepped closer, he huffed loudly. Your ex spat a curse and, in sheer fright, clumsily dashed out of your house, jumping into a rusty Ford and sped off.  
Still against the wall, you slowly pulled your head up, wondering how it had gotten so quiet. The visitor from the previous night stood in the dead center of the living room, staring out the open front door, cold air rushing in as the door swung a bit. You gasp quietly as the man shot his head down to you. He looked miserable and ill, eyes were puffy and a bit drool spilt out of his mouth. He did not move, just stood like a statue, watching you.  
How he got into your house was the first thought that ran through your head. You were thankful though. You did not have the slightest idea of what your new pal did, but your were filled with gratitude. “Thank you.” Taking a breath, you were still shaking, gathering yourself. He tilted his head a bit, taking an uneven step to you.  
“Who are you?” You blurted out.  
The man blinked, followed by a mucus-filled cough. Leaning into yourself a bit more, you wondered what was this man going to do to you? Was he good or bad? His vibe was difficult to read.  
Studying his face, you noticed one eye was milky and appeared to be in the process of healing from an injury. Green mucus coated his nostrils. His posture was hunched over and was struggling to stay balanced.

Your stomach churned.

You were okay. You were fine. You were not injured. Just in a little bit of shock.

Oh, gosh, he put his hands on you.

He put his hands on you.

The walls closed around you, the cold breeze burned your skin.

You take a deep breath.

Tilting his head to the other side, he looked down at you calmly at your silent panic and let out another cough. You paused, your red flags going haywire. Bells rang in your ears. Webs of confusion spread throughout your brain.  
“Are you okay?”  
Blinking tiredly, a gob of mucus trailed from his nose. He took another uneven step, now a giant body towered over yours.  
Were you getting this right? He looked genuinely exhausted. He wheezed quietly while his eyes crossed slightly.

“...do you need me to help you…?”

What could go wrong?

His eyes narrowed at you. Once again, you leaned back with caution. He let out a strained grunted in some sort of pain or acknowledgement, lowering his head, dropping his broad shoulders.  
You knew one-hundred percent you were not safe, fingers trembling. You told yourself you would not trust another man again. You could not endure any further damage to your being.

Lots of things could go wrong.

Suddenly, he held out a fist over you. You watched him in question. Opening his fingers, he dropped a crumpled wrapper into your lap. It was from the snack you gave him before.

“Um, thank you…?”

He gazed at you.

Then the wrapper.

You.

The wrapper.

Putting two-and-two together, you had a realization. “You’re hungry?”  
He gave a quick nod. You wiggled to stand up on wobbly knees, but he did not move from his position of hunching over you. Awkwardly, you slide against the wall, parallel to him, not taking your watery eyes off the man. Using the doorframe to guide yourself to your feet, you back up into the kitchen. He followed you for a few steps into the room.  
Opening up the fridge, you move through some expired chocolate milk and a carton of eggs. “I can make you an omelette.” You mumbled, pulling out a block of cheese and the cardboard carton. Waiting for an answer, you just assumed his silence said “yes”.  
He stood a few good feet away from you, but watched you crack the eggs and fry them on the pan. Leaning in to observe the cooking more, he began to close the space between you both. He walked around the dining table and past the fridge.  
He let his fingers glide over the large knife lazily placed on the counter from a previous dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the sweet messages!! I've never written anything like this before, so it's some good practice. I hope you have a great day!! Much love! oxox


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